


A First Time For Everything

by MobyChick22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blow Jobs, Dean in Glasses, Drug Use, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, nerd!dean, punk!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MobyChick22/pseuds/MobyChick22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester was an average high school student who kept to himself, did his homework, and didn't care much for anyone who wasn't family -- that is, except Castiel Novak. Castiel was a bit of a punk, and kept to himself as well -- except, to distract himself, he skipped classes to smoke and get high. Despite years and years of teasing from Novak, Dean had always had a weird thing for him (a crush, dare he say). After running into Castiel in the hallway, and after a particularly heated argument, things escalate quickly, and their relationship and views of each other may be changed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is adapted from a roleplay I partook in. It's the first work I will be posting to AO3, and I just hope whoever reads it can give me some feedback/constructive criticism. Please enjoy!
> 
> (If you have any criticisms or advice you want to get out there, please don't hesitate to comment.)

Dean kept his head down and his eyes on the ground as he walked. He was running late to math, and had decided to take a shortcut through the art hallway. Unfortunately for him, that happened to be the favorite haunt of the school's "bad boy", Castiel Novak. He swore softly, refusing to look at the black-clad, pierced teenager, and hitched his bag higher on his shoulder.

Embarrassingly, the reason unbeknownst to him, he'd had a crush on the other for pretty much as long as he could remember. It was a little ironic, as he was sure Castiel hated him (and at times he was sure he hated the other as well).

Holding his breath, he walked past, keeping his distance as well as he could from the teen, who was leaning against the wall, when a cloud of smoke hit him in the face. Coughing, he looked up to meet Castiel's trademark smirk with wide eyes. A fresh wave of smoke flowed over him as he stood there, frozen and indecisive. He glowered, anger overwhelming his nerves for the moment.

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"

Castiel let out a small laugh, his expression of amusement, the opposite of Dean's agitated expression. "Yeah, I know," he responded casually, "It's like you haven't figured that out this whole time, kiddo."

Dean scrunched up his face and exhaled sharply at the use of the word 'kiddo', and tilted his head as he frowned at the punk.

"You know what would really change things up a bit, Cas? If you actually went to class for once," Dean suggested sarcastically, ending his sentence with a less-than-friendly smile. Castiel frequently skipped classes, just to smoke in the hallways. Who the hell does that? Castiel, apparently. He had no idea how the bastard wasn't caught smoking more often.

He also had no idea why he'd ever started being attracted to this asshole, but it wasn't like he could necessarily help it. He never thought his 'type' would be someone like Cas -- the complete opposite of him, it seemed. It was a frustrating internal conflict, the way Dean felt about Cas. He hated his guts, hated everything about him, yet somehow he still had dreams about him, whether they were actual dreams or just random daydreams that would occupy his mind during study hall (when he  _should_ be studying).

Much to Dean's annoyance, Castiel laughed again, his face looking suddenly pretentious. As if Castiel Novak had any reason to be pretentious. "Ha, right. Like I need advice from a kid who still pees in his bed," the raven-haired boy countered (embarrassingly, causing Dean's cheeks to heat a little. He certainly did not still wet his bed). Castiel scoffed, placing his cigarette back in between his slightly-parted lips.

"It's not your fuckin' business what I do," Castiel continued, "If I wanna smoke, I smoke. If I wanna do my homework, I will. It's none of your concern,  _Winchester_. Run along now. Frolic with your... friends or whatever."

Dean's face dropped, expressionless as he clenched his jaw, taking a deep and shaky breath through his nose to try and calm himself. He hated being talked to like that, especially by  _Castiel Novak_ , who was nowhere near 'better' than him.

"You are  _really_ something, Novak," Dean marveled (though not at all amazed). "I thought I was pathetic, but you really outshine me in that aspect. What's your problem anyway? Mommy never paid attention? Daddy never hugged you?" He knew even as he said them that the words sounded harsh, especially coming from him. He wouldn't have made it personal any other time, but for some reason, today he felt even more pissed off than usual.

Castiel's brows came together and he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between two fingers as he blew the smoke in Dean's face again. The bell rang for next period, but neither of them seemed to want to move.

"Wow. Y'know, I thought for a nerdy little scrawny kid like you, you would have some respect for me." Cas soured, his expression staying blank. "My family has nothing to do with this. And unless you want those stupid hipster glasses up your small ass, you better shut your god-damned trap," he growled.

Dean's anger was steadily increasing, his blood seeming to boil. He felt like he was going to explode, like he was a bomb and Castiel had lit the fuse. He hadn't even scrunched up his face when the smoke clouded his vision. He simply stared hard at Castiel, his fists clenching and unclenching, as well as his jaw, and his patience wearing thin. He figured he should probably feel threatened, but instead he just felt like he needed to punch him, kick the hell out of him, maybe inflict a few bruises or nosebleeds, even though he knew he wasn't all that strong.

"It's fucking useless," Dean muttered, voice rough and trembling with overwhelming anger, "You're just a waste of space."

Some unplaceable expression crossed Castiel's face at that, before returning to its emotionless state. "Right," he replied, the word weaker than usual. He flicked the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, his frame still leaning against the wall.

"Go on, please," Castiel offered, his voice regaining its sarcasm with ease. "I'd like to be enlightened by your insightfulness. So by all means... go on, Winchester."

Dean felt himself falter a little bit. He hadn't expected the sudden calm tone of Castiel's voice. A part of him probably wanted to instigate, to make Cas attack him, so he'd be justified in trying to beat the shit out of him.

"Wha-... I..." Dean went quiet for a moment, then clenched his jaw and shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, looking away from the other. "Just forget it," he murmured, still feeling shaky, his heart beating quickly. None of this was worth any of his time, and he wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish. All he was accomplishing was wasting time.

"You're a waste," he continued, "wasting my energy, my time. I'm late for class." He looked one last time at Castiel before starting to walk away. "Don't know why anyone would ever waste their effort on you."

Castiel stared at the floor as Dean began walking away, but then he suddenly grabbed Dean's t-shirt and pulled him back.

"Well, you did," he growled, his fist wrapped around Dean's shirt, their faces inches apart. "Tell me something I don't know. Come on. I'd like to see what you got." His upper lip quirked up in a smirk which caused Dean to feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Get the hell off me," Dean insisted, his brows coming to knit together, eyes wide from the sudden close proximity, though he didn't necessarily try to push away. Even if he did try, Castiel was stronger by far, and he would only look silly.

"I'm sure anything I have to say about you, you already know," he continued, "No matter what I throw at you, no matter how much I can hate you, I can't possibly hate you more than you hate yourself."

Or perhaps Dean was just projecting his own self-hatred onto Castiel. Dean hated himself more than anything; his self-loathing was probably larger than Castiel's ego. Dean's eyes flicked from Castiel's smirking lips to his shockingly blue eyes as he fought to remain calm, though nothing about this situation was very calming.

"You don't care what I have to say. I'm just as much a nobody to you as you are to everyone else," he finished.

Castiel huffed, pulling Dean forward and smashing their lips together, giving Dean no time to process the action, as he kept the kiss short, letting go (more like shoving back) Dean and huffing again, wiping his mouth.

"Fuck you," Cas spat before pulling another cigarette out of his pocket, placing it in his mouth and walking away, leaving Dean Winchester alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sudden and unprovoked kiss from Castiel changes things inside Dean. How will he react and what will come of it?

Dean stood in shock against the wall, eyes wider than ever and lips parted and tingling. His heart was beating frantically, mind swimming and stomach doing flips.

_What?_

Every ounce of anger and hatred was instantly gone, replaced with overwhelming confusion. So, he stood there in distress, discombobulated, staring at the wall and feeling a bit sick.

_What?_

He mouthed the word over and over, trying to remember what had just happened. They were both angry, passionately angry, hating each other, wanting to beat the shit out of each other, and then... he  _kissed him_?

The more Dean tried to think it over, his anger slowly returned. He dropping his bookbag, turning his head to see the figure of Castiel, turning the corner. He stomped after him, heart and mind surging, confused and pissed and something else that he couldn't place.

When he caught up to him, Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and spun him around, harder than he anticipated, and stared hard at him, cheeks flushed red and eyes filled with confusion, anger and so many questions.

"What the  _hell_ was that?" he demanded.

Castiel stared at him with about as much emotion as before (which is to say, next to none) as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and blew all the smoke in Dean's face. Dean was too upset to even be bothered by the smoke again. He was quite frankly just annoyed and bored with it.

"You were there; you tell me," Castiel muttered, leaning against the wall and rolling his eyes slightly. "You wouldn't stop talking; you were giving me a headache," he said simply, licking his lips and swallowing. "I could flick you off of me -- you know that, right?"

Dean's fist flew through the air, connecting with the side of Castiel's face, as hard as he could but not necessarily hard to enough to do any significant damage.

"Fuck you!" he screamed, vision going blurry with tears and face blood red. He moved forward, shoving him as hard as he possibly could, repeating, "Fuck you!" He felt like an idiot, on the brink of tears after having his first kiss with a disgustingly attractive (attractively disgusting) piece of shit like Castiel. How dare he! How could he possibly do something like that? Just steal his first kiss like it was nothing, and act as though nothing happened?! Toy with his mind, and his heart, and all for what? His amusement? Dean just wanted to wail on him, to punch him and punch him until his face was so swollen that he couldn't lick those gorgeous lips or give him that stupidly sexy smirk or say another goddamned word.

Castiel stumbled back, holding the side of his face that Dean punched. He glared up at the other, at Dean's red and tear-streaked face. His eyes clouded with a sort of dark expression, akin to the self-loathing Dean had seen in his own eyes many times before.

"Come on; hit me again, Dean," he growled, the use of Dean's name being a first coming from his lips. "I know you want to. Come on, I deserve it," he added, his tone of voice almost begging. He let go of the side of his face and walked toward the other, taking Dean's hand and curling it into a fist for him, setting it against the side of his own face.

"Damn it, Dean, do it!" he shouted louder, his eyes closed tightly.

Dean stared, wide-eyed, at Castiel, eyebrows knitted together and upturned in distress, in utter confusion.

"No," he refused softly, shaking his head as he gazed at Castiel, trying his hardest to figure him out. To figure all of it out. So much had happened so fast that it almost felt like nothing had happened.

"You really are damaged, aren't you?" Dean whispered softly, blinking away tears which left salty streaks down his flushed cheeks. The words weren't mocking or hateful, but a realization. Maybe that was what drew Dean to him. They were both so incredibly damaged, in their own ways. Perhaps they were polar opposites, but that was what they had in common: self-hatred.

His hand, which was balled into a fist and pressed against Castiel's face, flattened itself, holding the cheek gently. The movement wasn't very thought-out, but one of instinct, a gentle caress, an apology, an understanding. He wondered if Castiel had ever experienced tenderness before. If anyone had ever cared.

He didn't hate Castiel, Dean realized -- at least, not in its purest form. He hated how much he cared for him, and how much he absolutely shouldn't.

Castiel stood still, staring back at Dean, his eyes filled with confusion but not disagreement. A bruise was already starting to form on his face.

"I'm not damaged," he muttered, swallowing and letting out a small breath. "It's none of your business if I'm damaged or not." Dean almost thought Castiel would walk away, but he didn't.

Despite how Castiel was obviously trying to push him away, Dean stayed there, gazing at the boy. Oddly enough, he couldn't bring himself to be angry anymore. He wanted to understand Castiel, to get on some understanding level of emotion. Maybe nothing good would come out of any of it, but maybe they'd finally understand each other. Maybe all the bullshit would end. Maybe...

"It's okay to be damaged," Dean insisted softly, not breaking the eye contact he held with the boy, green eyes locked onto blue. 

"It's not okay, Dean." He shut his eyes for a moment, and Dean supposed that the fact that he allowed his hand to remain on his cheek was a good sign. "Being broken and damaged or whatever, it's my life. I'm used to it. It's not gonna change and I know that," he muttered softly, eyes still closed. "Whatever. I can't get all... touchy-feely," he said as he opened his eyes, though he didn't quite bring his gaze up to meet Dean's.

Dean was quiet for a long moment, processing what Castiel had said --  _It's not gonna change_. Dean had felt that innumerable times before, and he wasn't sure if he believed it could change enough to reassure the dark-haired boy.

"Y-... you don't know that," he tried softly, hesitantly, testing the thought. He had to believe that things could change. "I mean... Surely, it c--"

"Dean, stop," Castiel said suddenly, furrowing his eyebrows and swallowing. He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. "You don't know me, okay? Stop acting like you do. You're nothing like me." He looked off to the side, silent for a moment.

"I'm leaving. I'm not about to sit here and ask for two weeks in detention," Castiel muttered, bringing his hand up to pull Dean's hand off his face. "I'm not one to be pitied, Winchester. I don't have friends, and I'm not about to gain a new therapist either," he said, his voice monotone and low. Dean stared after him as Cas began to walk off.

And just like that, whatever was there, had ended. 'Dean' was once again 'Winchester'. Dean's chest felt a bit heavy, and he took a few deep breaths as he stared at the ground, new tears forming in his eyes, despite himself. Maybe this was stupid, and a bad idea, and Dean should have just gone to class and left him alone, maybe spared himself a little dignity. It would have had the same outcome, after all. Cas clearly didn't want to be helped. And Dean wasn't even entirely sure he _could_ help him. Dean wasn't even entirely sure he could help himself...

He picked up his bookbag from the floor, turning to watch Castiel walk out of the school building.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reflects on the previous chapters as he walks away from the school, and away from Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Castiel's point of view, as opposed to the previous chapters, which were from Dean's perspective. It's basically a bit of filler for the coming chapters, and it gives me an opportunity to express what Castiel is feeling now. I plan on this being a sort of pattern, not a steady switch between perspectives, which would be sort of excessive, but I feel as though I need a way to get Castiel's thoughts/feelings out there as well. I hope you enjoy!  
> (Next chapter is to be written soon.)

Castiel clenched his jaw as he walked off of school campus and toward the park where he always got high. He needed the high, desperately craved it after what just happened -- more-so than usual, even.

But he couldn't get high until he reached the park, so he pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, staring at them for a moment before lighting it and sticking it in his mouth. The walk seemed longer today, as he only had his thoughts to occupy himself and his cigarette to try and drown them out.

All he could think about was Dean and how much he didn't deserve to be wasting his time on him. Dean was a good kid. Getting involved with Castiel was only asking for trouble.

There was so much about him that Dean didn't know, that virtually nobody knew except for himself, and he'd never intended for it to go as far as it did. He was at least glad that he stopped it all before things could get out of hand. His stomach was turning itself over in anxiety, and other feelings that he didn't want to classify.

He couldn't think about Dean in the same way anymore. Before, he was just a dork -- a cute dork with glasses and Batman shirts -- who seemed to hate him, and Castiel pretended to hate him back. It was almost like a game to Castiel. It had gone too far this time though, and there was now nothing fun about it anymore.

Castiel blew a steady stream of smoke out, sighing and flicking ashes onto the ground. Who the hell did Dean think he was? Castiel had always had his shit together. Well... as much as he  _could_ get his shit together. His family was still dysfunctional and they didn't care, but still... he was fine on his own.

He thought back on Dean's words, each syllable imprinted in his mind. He wanted to be angry, to go back to hating Dean Winchester, but he just couldn't bring himself to. He wasn't misunderstood because the world hated him, or some other teenage-angsty bullshit, and he knew that. He was like this to be avoided. He didn't like people, and he didn't want people to talk to him (take Dean Winchester for instance) so he dressed like he just came back from a murder spree. It seemed to work for the most part.

But now... he almost felt as though he wanted what he'd felt when Dean had pressed his hand against his cheek, when he'd spoken so softly and gently to him.

He finally reached the park, finding 'his' tree and beginning to climb as high as he could. It was practically the only way Castiel could be truly alone, high above everyone else. A bird.

As he lit the joint, replacing the cigarette (throwing the cigarette to the ground) he thought back on what he'd been thinking the moments before he kissed Dean so suddenly. He'd just wanted Dean to shut up, to stop talking, to leave him alone, and somehow he'd thought that that would drive him away permanently. However, a part of him knew that he'd gone too deep in this... whatever it was, with Dean. He knew Dean wouldn't stop now.

He couldn't help but smile the faintest smile as the high took him, his last sober thoughts being of Dean Winchester's soft lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean reflects on the hectic events of the past hour...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After many months, I nearly forgot about this story, but your support encouraged me to pick it up again. This chapter is very short but it's only as long as it needs to be. I promise many more chapters which much more action! (If you know what I mean.)

Dean lay in his bed, staring up at his ceiling, in the same position he'd been for an hour or so. He hadn't bothered to go back to class, instead checking himself out at the office due to suspected illness, and heading home. There was no way he would have been able to focus in class after that. Not with the thought of Castiel in his mind; his lips quickly and angrily pressing against his and then suddenly gone, leaving him feeling simultaneously cold and hot, head spinning dizzily like a tornado.

He also couldn't shake the thought of Castiel's words, the hurt and unguarded look in his eyes as he insisted Dean hit him -- as though he meant to punish himself for something. But for what? For kissing him? Thinking back on it, Dean didn't necessarily detest kissing Castiel. Of course, in the past he'd found himself dreaming (though with much guilt the next morning) of the dark-haired punk's lips on his skin, but he'd never thought it would become a reality.

There was too much going on in Dean's head, so much that he found himself a bit overwhelmed and frustrated, and, he decided, definitely in need of a long, hot shower.

As he stood in the shower with the hot water raining against his bare back, he closed his eyes and began to feel calmer, his breathing slowing and his chest feeling less tight. Showers were always sort of a place of refuge for him. When the stress became too much and he felt as though he weren't going to make it, he would spend much of the evening in the shower. It helped clear his mind and relax his tight muscles, the best therapy. As Dean's mind started to feel less foggy and crowded, the overwhelming cacophony of frantic thought disappearing, one thought couldn't escape his mind.

It started with the recollection of their lips pressed together, that split second which felt like an hour in his mind, that brief moment of surprise and the turning of his stomach... The longer he allowed the thought to progress, the more it warped until suddenly he was imagining Castiel's lips leaving marks and kisses all along his body, trailing down and down...

 

Dean couldn't help his actions as he leaned against the wall of the shower, shuddering, his hand gripping tight to the shower railing...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter than before, with three different parts and a look at Dean's home life.

Dean tried to quell the feeling of guilt rising in his stomach as he stepped out of the shower, heart rate and breathing gradually slowing. He rarely did things like that, as he rarely felt the urge, but he suspected this was going to be a recurring event with Castiel plaguing his mind.

Dried and clad in his boxer briefs, Dean sighed as he collapsed onto the bed, feeling a bit weak and exhausted after everything. He glanced at the clock as he felt sleep beginning to come over him. _12:43_. There were still a few hours left until Sam would be getting home from school, and he would have to get up to look after him. Of course, Sam was a freshman in high school now and constantly insisted Dean didn't need to "baby" him anymore, but that notion went against everything Dean had known since the passing of their mother.

Despite the fact that Sam was now nearly as tall as Dean, Sam would always feel like the small, fragile little Sammy he'd carried out of that burning house all those years ago, the Sammy he'd taught to read and write while their father was out drinking.

He barely had the energy to reach over and set an alarm for 2:30 before sleep was overtaking him, coming all at once as though he were being immersed in a heavy blanket.

* * *

"Dean?" Sammy was nudging his older brother's shoulder, his voice soft and wary. Dean quickly awoke, snorting softly as his head lifted from his pillow.

"Hey, Sammy. Welcome home," he slurred, his voice thick with sleep as he rubbed the blurriness from his eyes.

"I've been home for a few hours now..." Sam corrected him. Dean glanced over at the alarm clock to find it was way past 2:30, now nearing ten o'clock.

" _Shit_ ," Dean cursed himself, "Sorry, Sa--"

"It's fine, really; you deserved the sleep, but I need your help..." Sam's voice was a bit quick and rushed, though it sounded like he was trying not to sound too frantic.

Dean sat up. "Sure; what's up, Sammy?"

"Dad's home."

* * *

 

John Winchester was stumbling drunkenly around the kitchen, grumbling unintelligible things to himself as he noisily threw open the refridgerator door. It was obvious to Dean that, despite his current drunken state, the eldest Winchester was on a search for more booze.

"Dad?" Dean questioned, though he wasn't surprised at all to see John here like this. This exact scene had taken place many times before in the past, and by now it was something Dean was accustomed to.

The eldest Winchester showed no acknowledgement of Dean's words, nor did he respond, which was perfectly fine with Dean. He wasn't looking for a conversation with the man, especially when he was like this.

John was staring into the open fridge, eyes squinting against the light as he grumbled something about _goddamned beer..._

"You've had enough," Dean insisted as he reached out to close the fridge, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "Why don't you head to bed."

"Fuck off," John growled, shrugging Dean's hand off and looking to him with bloodshot eyes. "'M not gunna let my own goddamned son tell me what ta do!" His voice was steadily raising now and Dean heard a small gasp behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Sam standing hesitantly in the doorway of the kitchen. Dean gestured for Sam to go to his room, but Sam shook his head.

"You need the sleep, Dad," Dean said calmly as he looked back to his father, who was now taking unsteady steps toward him and shoving a dirty finger in his face.

"Yer a fuckin' useless nobody, ya know that? Yer not even werth tha shit on my shoes..."

Dean glanced down, and didn't doubt that there was shit on John's shoes. He also couldn't help the sudden painful tightness of his chest as he remembered uttering similar words to Castiel hours earlier.

"Do not do this in front of Sam," Dean warned, his voice firm. He'd done all he could not to let Sam see their father this bad, not to let Sam hear the nasty words that always poured out of John's mouth.

"Tha way ah see it..." John started slowly, his voice eerily calm, a strong contrast to the way he'd been raising his voice moments before. "Is that ah can do whatever-tha-hell ah want in mah own goddamned house!" John was close, too close now -- so close that Dean could smell the booze strong on his breath. Dean shuddered a bit, his eyes widening as the look in John's eyes turned dark, and he knew what was about to come. The fear he felt was not for his own safety, but for Sam. Sam didn't know about the way their father became aggressive when he was this drunk.

"Sam, get your bookbag and a change of clothes," Dean muttered softly, and Sam quickly nod and ran off.

"Yer not goin' anywhere," John growled, reaching out to grab Dean but missing as Dean dodged him.

"Yes we are. Until you can get your act together, I'm not letting you around Sam. He doesn't deserve this."

"He's mah son! Yew got no right--"

"You lost your right to call yourself a father a long time ago," Dean grumbled as he grabbed the keys to the Impala and followed Sam as the younger Winchester ran to the door, fear in his wide eyes.

"Get back h--"

John's voice was cut off by the slamming of the front door.

 

"Where are we going?" Sam asked in a small voice as Dean drove away from the house, his jaw set in anger.

"I don't know yet," Dean admitted as he looked over to his frightened little brother. "But I'll make it better, okay? I promise..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean drives back to the house to pick up his things when he runs into someone unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit long, very dialogue-heavy, and hopefully will please you guys.

Dean had found a motel not far from town; it wasn't necessarily luxurious (though luxury is not typical of motels), but it would house them for the night while they were hiding away from John. It wasn't  until they got settled in that Dean realized he'd forgotten his bookbag and clothes -- he was still in the shirt and pajama pants he'd pulled on when Sam came and woke him up.

He had to go back.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked warily, still a bit frightened and confused. He'd known his dad to get a little irritable when he was drunk, but never that malicious. The younger Winchester briefly wondered if that was a common occurrence and if Dean had been keeping it from him.

"I'm sure, Sammy. Don't worry about me," Dean insisted. The old man had probably passed out by now, Dean thought to himself. That, or he'd gone out again on another drinking binge. If that were the case, Dean couldn't help but hope the drunk bastard would get himself killed and he'd be freed of the burden.

"Okay... Be careful."

"I will. Make sure to lock the door, and call me if something happens or you get too scared. I--"

"Dean." Sam was smiling softly, affectionately, at his older brother. "I'll be fine. Just go."

* * *

 Dean entered the house with caution, glancing around and keeping an ear out for his father as he quietly closed the door behind him. As he heard soft snoring coming from the couch, he sighed with relief and ran a hand over his face. John would be out like a log for a few hours, and Dean only needed to be here for a few minutes to gather his things.

After putting his bookbag and clothes in the backseat of his car, Dean felt calmer and more level-headed. He could now think more clearly and let his mind wander with less anxiety pumping his heart like a jackhammer against his ribcage. However, Dean soon resented the calm quiet as his thoughts turned to Castiel once more. With the events of that day, what had happened with Castiel now felt like it had happened days ago instead of hours. He briefly wondered how the guy was doing at that moment, when suddenly he was braking hard, nearly giving himself whiplash as he tried to avoid hitting the figure that had waltzed out into the street, in front of his car. He honked his horn angrily, rolling down his window and getting ready to curse the guy out, when he saw his face.

"Castiel?" Dean stuck his head out of the window, staring as the dark-haired boy squinted at him against the harsh light of his headlights. Castiel's eyes flashed with recognition, and he grinned slowly, beginning to saunter over to him.

"You following me?" the punk questioned, and despite himself, Dean felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

"O-of course not," Dean insisted, scratching at his cheek in an attempt to hide the blush. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

Castiel's grin softened into a smirk at the question, and he shrugged, shoving his hands into his back pockets. "Same thing I'm always doing," he replied (a bit cryptically, to Dean's annoyance). There was a moment of silence that was probably shorter than it seemed to be, and then Dean was inhaling sharply and sighing.

"Do you... need a ride?" he asked hesitantly, looking Castiel up and down. He looked a little disheveled, but then again, that wasn't necessarily anything new. Castiel seemed to hesitate as well, his gaze wandering along Dean's features in thought, causing Dean to feel a bit self-conscious.

"Sure," he finally agreed, taking his sweet time in walking over to the passenger side. Despite the self-control he'd always prided himself in, Dean couldn't stop his gaze from drifting along the teenager's body. Once Cas was finally at the passenger door, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, shaking Dean from his daze.

"Hey; no smoking in my car," Dean argued, even as Castiel opened the door and slipped in, cigarette in his mouth and lighter in his hand. The teen seemed to hear him, but didn't seem to care for Dean's objection as he glanced over at him, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. Dean coughed as the smoke invaded the space and leaned over Castiel, rolling the window down to let the smoke out.

"You are  _really_ something," Dean grumbled as he glanced at Castiel, sitting back up in his seat and sighing. He heard a soft chuckle from beside him.

"You got that right."

Dean began to drive, and all was silent for a few minutes before Dean became a bit restless. Castiel was acting somewhat civil toward him, especially considering what had happened earlier. He was smiling and didn't seem to be as pissed off at him as before, when he'd all but stormed out of the school building.

"You seem a little happier..." Dean mentioned quietly, glancing over at Castiel and slightly startled to find that the teenager was already looking over at him with a soft and almost contemplative gaze, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. Castiel smiled as Dean jumped, blinking quickly and looking back at the road. He waited for a response from the other, but only got a simple hum of acknowledgement. Then it was silent again. As he glanced over at Castiel, he could still see the bruise on his cheekbone, small and just barely noticeable in the darkness. Dean chewed on his lower lip for a few moments before speaking up once more, unable to dismiss the thoughts swimming in his head.

"So, about earlier..." Dean started, pausing for a moment as he wasn't really sure where he was going with that. There was so much he wanted to talk about, but where could he start?

"Let me guess," Castiel began, and Dean pulled his lower lip between his teeth and looked straight ahead, expecting nothing less than a sarcastic remark. "That was the best damn kiss you've ever had and it was so overwhelming that you lashed out."

"Th-that wasn't what I was going to say!" Dean all but shouted, his face burning. At least Castiel was acting somewhat normal now. Castiel grinned over at him as Dean frowned and gripped tighter to the steering wheel. He didn't know why he thought he could have a civil conversation with Castiel without some smart-ass remark intended to embarrass him.

"But it  _was_ the best damn kiss you've ever had, was it not?" Was he  _flirting_ with him? Dean glanced toward Castiel nervously, his jaw set.

"Well, considering it was the only kiss I've ever had..."

Silence. A long, nerve-wracking silence.

"Oh."

Dean blinked. "What do you mean, 'oh'?" he demanded, looking over at Castiel who was clearly trying to hide a smirk but failing.

"You're a virgin."

"Th-that's--"

"Not what you said, yadda yadda. But you are."

Dean was getting more than tired of being rendered speechless.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes. I am." He looked over at Castiel, who was now grinning. "What?" _  
_

"Nothing, nothing. I just should've known."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just the way you are."

Dean gave Castiel a pointed look that was clearly code for  _elaborate_. 

"Well... You just seem so busy all the time, it's no wonder you're not getting laid." Dean searched Castiel's face for any sign of uncertainty or bullshit, but found none.

"Yes. Exactly. Thank you," Dean said hesitantly with a nod, looking back to the road and trying to quell the embarrassment rising from his gut. There was more silence and Dean was beginning to relax when Castiel spoke up again.

"Do you touch yourself?"

Castiel barked with laughter as Dean nearly drove off of the road, startled.

"Jesus, Cas..."

"I'm just fucking with you, Winchester," Castiel chuckled as he wiped at his eye. "I know you touch yourself."

Dean frowned and slammed on the brake, causing Castiel to launch forward, crashing into the dashboard, since he'd neglected to buckle in.

"Okay, I deserved that," Castiel muttered as he sat back again, rubbing at his shoulder, which was undoubtedly bruised.

"While we're prying into my sex life, why don't we hear about yours?" Dean challenged, eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over at Castiel. He hated that grin. Suddenly he didn't feel so guilty for the bruise on the punk's cheek either.

"You really wanna know?" Dean tried not to be intimidated by Castiel's confident tone. Why did he even bother asking? He knew Castiel must be the most promiscuous person he'd ever met.

"Yeah," he insisted, raising his brows and looking over at him, "Tell me, Castiel; how's your sex life?"

There was a slow intake of breath beside him, as though Castiel were preparing himself for a long speech. "Well," he began, "Take your sex life... and imagine the exact opposite."

"So... I take it you're very... active."

Castiel grinned at him, and Dean couldn't keep his stomach from stirring as those blue eyes drifted along his body. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Dean remained silent, biting at his lip as he resisted shouting at the guy. Finally, Castiel sighed.

"Yes, I am very... 'active'." Dean didn't respond. At this point, he just wanted to get the guy home. It was then he realized that he hadn't even asked Castiel where he lived -- he'd just been driving aimlessly -- but before he could ask where to drop him off, Castiel interrupted with a mumbled, "I could probably teach you a few things..."

Dean sighed. "No thank you..."

A pause. "You sure?" Dean looked over at Castiel, surprised to see that he looked serious. For once, Dean didn't blush or get flustered, instead staring silently over at the boy as he deposited his ashes out the window.

"You're propositioning me."

The lack of a smirk or grin from the other boy was enough confirmation that -- yes -- Castiel Novak was in the front seat of Dean Winchester's Impala, offering him sexual favors.

"Why?" Dean asked, and was met with a shrug from the other boy, who took one last puff of his cigarette before flicking it out the open window.

"Well, I figure that you'd prefer your first sexual encounter to be with someone you trust."

"And what makes you think I trust you?" Dean looked over at Castiel as he questioned him, and they locked eyes for perhaps a few seconds too long.

"Don't you?"

Dean went quiet at that, staring into Castiel's eyes for a few moments longer before looking back to the road. He honestly had no idea whether or not he trusted Castiel. Sure, they'd been through a lot, and, sure, he'd known Castiel to be a bit of a scumbag, but he was growing more and more comfortable with Castiel. He supposed he trusted him enough to offer him a ride home, and he trusted him enough to maintain prolonged eye contact...

"Pull over."

Dean blinked. "W-what?"

"Pull over."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean pulled over to the side of the road, and at Castiel's command, he put the car in park. He wasn't sure why he'd chosen to obey his orders, as none of this seemed unsuspicious. He could almost hear his heart thumping, suddenly nervous for reasons unknown. Maybe because he was parked in a car a few hours before midnight with a punk like Castiel, who, while Dean wanted to trust him, could be a bit unpredictable (and maybe because aforementioned punk had just propositioned him).

He waited for what seemed like a minute, staring straight ahead in silence, before looking over at Cas. He was unsurprised to find him staring right at him, his casual expression a stark contrast to Dean's anxiety.

"What are we doing?" Dean asked warily, looking Castiel over. The other boy took this question as a cue and sat up, leaning toward Dean as Dean stared at him with wide eyes.

"Whatever you'll let me do, I suppose," Castiel answered, his voice low, and Dean's stomach turned. Dean chuckled nervously and was searching his mind for words when the dark-haired teenager slowly picked his glasses off of his face. He paused, tilting his head as he examined Dean's features. "You're so much cuter without your glasses, you know that?"

Dean wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, but either way his cheeks reddened. Castiel didn't seem to want to give him much time to respond, as he was then scooting closer and leaning in so close that Dean could smell the tobacco from the cigarette he'd been smoking, mixed with the cologne he seemed to be wearing. Dean had never noticed it before. Then again, he'd never been this close to Castiel before today.

"Cas," Dean muttered once he was pressed up against the car door, his head resting against the window. Castiel quirked an eyebrow with a questioning 'hm?', his hand running along Dean's thigh. Dean hadn't noticed until then that he'd turned to face Castiel, his leg stretched out across the leather bench seat. He twitched slightly, unable to stop the shiver that ran through him at the other's touch. He swallowed thickly, his gaze lifting from the hand on his thigh to meet Castiel's eyes.

There was a smirk playing at the corner of the punk's lips and Dean was almost sure Cas would start laughing and reveal that he was 'just joking, Winchester' and tell him where to drop him off. But instead, there was only anticipatory silence as they stared at each other.

"Listen, it's late and I've gotta--"

Castiel was suddenly pressing his lips against Dean's, more tenderly than the brief, harsh kiss from earlier that day, and Dean was once again interrupted. The kiss was slow but deliberate, and it was clear that Castiel had much, much more experience as his lips moved against his. Dean tried his best to follow Castiel's lead, and for a minute or two the only sounds were the soft hum of the engine and their breathing.

Dean's eyes remained closed as Castiel's lips left his, and he took a deep breath before speaking.

"I've gotta... get back home," he finished in a rough murmur, shivering once more as Castiel's hand began to move again. It was only sort of a lie, but he wasn't about to try to explain to Cas his situation -- his dad's alcoholism, his brother who was alone at the motel.

"Come on," Cas argued, his other hand moving to slip under Dean's shirt, thumb sweeping across his hip bone, "You're already out here at this ungodly hour, so I'm sure no one's missing you yet." Dean couldn't help but sigh as Castiel's mouth met the skin the of his neck, and his eyelids fluttered shut. He could feel the other boy smile against his neck as Dean shivered for the millionth time.  _No one's missing you yet_.

"Stop," he said, pushing a bit on Castiel's chest. "I can't do this."

"Why not?" Castiel questioned, leaning up a bit.

"Because it would be selfish, and-and like you said, I'm a very busy person; I don't have time for stuff like this," Dean argued a bit hurriedly, looking down at the leather seat.

"Selfish? Dean, you're allowed to enjoy yourself for once. Have some fun. Live a little."

"I can't!" Castiel jumped a bit at the sudden volume, and furrowed his brow. "I can't, okay? I've got much more important priorities than... making out with hot punk guys in my car on the side of the road at ungodly hours of the night."

"Why?" Castiel's voice was beginning to raise as well. "Why do you do this to yourself? You act like you're 35 with three kids and a full-time job! You're 18; what actual responsibilities could you possibly have outside of school?"

Dean couldn't help but think about Sam, all alone at the motel and probably waiting up for him, scared and worried.

"You have no fucking idea!" Dean growled, shoving at the other boy, harder than he meant to, as Castiel stumbled backward, his back slamming against the passenger side door. The punk looked startled, his eyes wider than usual. "You're not me, okay? So don't assume you know what my life is like!"

Castiel's expression fell a bit, undoubtedly remembering his own words from earlier.  _You don't know me, okay? Stop acting like you do._  

"Okay," the darker-haired teenager responded quietly, looking Dean over as he sat back in his seat, watching Dean put his glasses back on.

* * *

Dean had begun to drive in the direction Castiel had gestured when suddenly Castiel told him to stop the car.

"I'll walk the rest of the way," he explained as he started to get out of the car. Dean frowned.

"I don't mind driving you, Cas," he objected, his voice much softer and calmer now that he'd calmed down. He felt a bit guilty for snapping at Cas like he did. Castiel hadn't done anything wrong. He just didn't know.

"No, it's fine. You're not a taxi service, and you've got more important things to do, so-- You know what, here." Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a 20-dollar bill, setting it on the bench seat. "Buy yourself something pretty. Thanks for the ride." Before Dean could object any further, Cas was closing the door and walking off, hands in his jacket pockets and freshly-lit cigarette in his mouth.

 


End file.
